Hallows' Eve
by Child of a Broken Dawn
Summary: From a poorly-received show to goblin collisions, nothing is going right for Sarah this Halloween. Response to the Jareth Fangirl Harem's October challenge.
1. Chapter 1

The October challenge at the Jareth Fangirl Harem was to write a story including a black cat, a magic broom, a demon, and the Dance of the Dead. The challenger left that last one undefined, so I went the traditional route. The song used at the beginning is a medieval German poem, covered by the Mediaeval Baebes on their album "Worldes Blysse." I do not own "Labyrinth" or any characters therein. Enjoy!

"So sayeth Life, the world is mine!" intoned the green-cloaked figure, raising his arms to the heavens. Around him, richly clad lords and ladies advanced on a group of animated skeletons. The dead retreated, trembling in their rags; the living laughed joyfully at their conquest.

"The flowers that bloom and the song of the birds! The daylight and sunshine!" Life's broad, reddish face beamed as he sang. "So spricht das Lebe, the world is mine!"

Suddenly, from out of the shadows, a woman swathed in filmy black strode to his side. Throwing back her hood to reveal a bloodless face with sunken eyes and cheeks, she countered, "So sayeth Death, the world is mine." With a flourish of her hand, the dead rallied again and skipped amongst Life's followers. They lead the revelers in a mocking dance, clutching at the women's bright silken skirts and snatching hats from the men. Death's dark lips curved into a smirk, and she continued her song.

"…so spricht das Tod, the world is mine."

"You can have me if ya want!"

_And, once again, the student body of Kenneth University proves itself unable to appreciate decent theater._

Sarah Williams sighed quietly and tried to maintain her composure. Every year, the Drama Society staged some kind of show for Halloween; she had pushed for an adaptation of the Danse Macabre countless times and been turned down flat. No amount of pleas, diva tantrums, or examples of how perfect the source material was had melted the president/director's stony heart.

"Sar, they wouldn't understand it," Michelle said each time; "Half of them don't even know we **have** a medieval studies department!"

But this year, a miracle: Michelle had come down with pneumonia at the last minute, and Fred, the vice president, took over the fall season for her. Fred, who just happened to be hopelessly, ardently infatuated with Sarah. One careful application of puppy eyes (combined with a rather low-cut top), and she'd gotten her show.

_Which is fantastic, except that Michelle was apparently right._

She gamely stepped into the spotlight for her second verse, determined that the show must go on, but any magic that had been there was gone. The audience, spurred with promises of free beer at the Alpha Kappa fraternity house, began to slip out of the theater. At first only one or two people left, then groups of three or so, then a veritable crush of young men and women streamed towards the back door. Before long, only a few hecklers, acting teachers, and Sarah's fellow medieval studies majors remained.

Two minutes ago, she'd been Death, a dark and mysterious queen of the night. Now Sarah's gloves itched, the velvet cloak had become unbearably hot under the stage lights, and she could almost feel her makeup running.

"So spricht das Leben, the world is mine!" Fred exclaimed one final time. The skeletons collapsed in a heap on the floor and Sarah gratefully descended through a trap door in a puff of black smoke.

The scanty audience clapped above and she knew she would be missed at curtain call, but her frustration outweighed responsibility. Tossing the cloak, gloves, and "bone" crown on a chair, she trudged up the steps to ground level and out the stage door.

For a few minutes she stomped along the path to her dorm angrily, muttering under her breath about the mental deficiencies, unattractiveness, probable ability to graduate, and parentage of modern college students. About halfway home, however, the fury that had carried the slighted actress from the theater began to burn itself out. She shivered in the chill October air and regretted leaving the heavy cloak behind; in an effort to distract herself, she watched the costumed children who scampered under the bare trees. Each Halloween, Kenneth hosted a trick-or-treating event. Parents concerned about their children's safety could leave them in a designated area of campus, heavily peopled and well-lit, to solicit candy from the students. Sarah had brought Toby up one year, but otherwise preferred to stay out of the festivities; while she liked children, a large crowd of sugar-rushing little ones was a daunting prospect.

Besides, there were usually costume parties to attend or plays to perform. She hadn't had a free Halloween night since-

BAM!

What appeared to be a landlocked comet bowled headfirst into Sarah, knocking her to the pavement. It went down with her and, in the ensuing struggle, somehow managed to become entangled in her skirt.

"Hold- oof!- still!" she exclaimed as a tiny fist connected with her jaw. The child- it had to be a child- was surprisingly strong, or perhaps someone had been giving out steroid-laced candy. _I wouldn't put it past a few of the jocks_, Sarah thought darkly as she attempted to calm the now-kicking red creature. It was then that she noticed the boots.

Two of them, black and shining more brightly than any leather boots had the right to. Attached to a pair of legs encased in dark gray- _tight_- pants that sparkled where the harvest moon's light hit them. Attached to…

"I do beg your pardon, Miss," a dry voice said from somewhere above, "but this demon's already deficient judgment has been further impeded by disgusting amounts of sugar. It was only a matter of time before he forgot to mind where he was running, and you happened to be in the way." The voice's owner offered her a long-fingered hand, gloved in black leather that matched the boots.

Sarah's brain stubbornly tried to avoid putting two and two together. Ignoring the hand, she continued sorting black satin from crimson polyester, getting a grubby foot to the elbow for her efforts.

"If the 'demon' is yours, could you get him to calm down?" she replied in a tight voice. _Come on, be a parent, a brother, a cousin- hell, be a kidnapping mugger, just don't be-_

The hand was retracted and she could almost hear the smirk as the voice said, "Sssarah? Fancy running in to** you** here."

_I just can't catch a break._ _But it might still be some jerk from high school. Yes, that's it! Probably Josh Reynolds; he always was a cocky bastard._

An angular face came into view, framed by chaotic blond hair, as the boots' owner knelt down beside her. Sarah looked up and straight into a pair of mismatched eyes beneath sharply slanting eyebrows.

It was not, she realized with a sinking feeling, Josh Reynolds.

"Not really, Goblin King," she said, voice admirably steady. "You're the one who's out of place here. And on that note, I'd really appreciate it if you could extricate your demon from my skirt and be on your way."

Unfortunately, he did not look in any mood to leave. He looked more in the mood to stay for an hour- or thirteen. But to his credit, Jareth did prod the still-stuck demon with the toe of one boot an bark at him to stop flailing on pain of the Bog. The goblin/devil went limp immediately, as if by magic, and Sarah (grudgingly grateful) removed the last swathes of night-colored cloth.

The little devil stood woozily, showing her that he was indeed a goblin. He straightened his tiny horns and stared up at her with wide, slightly candy-crazed eyes. "Thanks, you spoiled, overdramatic, beautiful, clever, infuriating, hateful, _precious_ girl!" he squeaked as if rattling off a quotation.

Sarah felt her cheeks begin to burn; Jareth, she noted, was gazing at a nearby tree as if he'd like nothing better than to hang himself from it. The goblin seemed to have no idea what he'd just said and turned to Jareth, a look of concern on his pointed face. "Did I say it right, King?" he asked.

The suicidal king covered his face with one hand. "No, Smudge, you said it _very_ wrong."

"King says that all the time," Smudge said to Sarah in a conspiratorial tone. "Dunno what it means, but he mostly says it while looking in crystals at y-"

Smudge's explanation was cut off mid-word and he dropped his pitchfork to pat his throat, worriedly. His lips continued to move, but no sound came out. Sarah's gaze shifted to Jareth; to her surprise, he appeared…anxious. There was no other word for it, but it was an emotion so alien to the confident, arrogant Goblin King that she couldn't stop staring. A moment later, he noticed her eyes on him and quickly composed his expression. The whole thing was over so quickly she wasn't sure she'd really seen it.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said brusquely, getting to her feet. As her right knee unbent, a stinging pain shot through her leg. She drew a breath sharply through her teeth and touched the knee gingerly. Her fingers seemed to intensify the pain, and shone wet and red in the moonlight when she examined them. "Shit," she swore, then turned back to Jareth.

"I'll take my leave. Goodnight." With that, she began hobbling down the lamp-lined path, wincing with every step.

_My peers are idiots, the Goblin King is still stalking me, and my knee is bleeding. This night can't possibly get any worse._

As if fate was determined to prove her wrong, Sarah's knee chose that moment to give way and she crumpled to the concrete. Or rather, she _would_ have crumpled to the concrete had not something warm and soft caught her around the waist.

A familiar, sardonic chuckle came from the vicinity of her ear. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere any time soon, my dear." She groaned inwardly. Now he'd have one more thing to hold over her head, an example of her weakness and possibly a bargaining chip.

"Think again, Goblin King," she shot back, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "I won't be needing any **assistance** from you tonight, thanks."

"You'll break your neck if you try to walk halfway across this campus unaided," he replied, and slung her right arm around his neck. Fine strands of hair tickled the crook of her elbow, a sensation which she tried valiantly to ignore. Removing his glittering, midnight blue cloak, he draped it over her shoulders, fastened the owl-shaped clasp, and began to walk. To avoid being dragged against the ground, Sarah was forced to walk with him.

_But I'm going against my will. Nothing about this experience is at all pleasant; he's forcing me to accept "help" which I don't want and which is probably nothing but some contrived excuse to…_ She firmly kept her thoughts along these lines as they crossed the quadrangle, squashing any contemplation of his body inches from hers or the play of his neck muscles against her arm. Or the fabric of his cloak, softer than any made by humans, still warm and holding his spicy, rich scent laced with the tang of magic. Or-

When exactly had she become so pathetic? _It must be the blood loss_, she quickly decided, and shoved her thoughts to safer ground.

After what felt like an eternity, the lights of her residence hall swam into view. Jareth, maddeningly, insisted on helping her up the steps, but she breathed a sigh of relief at the door. Disengaging her arm from his neck, she gave a little nod. "Again, my thanks," she said hurriedly, dashed (as much as she could dash) inside, and began to shut the door- only to have a black-clad hand shoot into the gap.

"How exactly do you intend to make it up the stairs?" he asked with just a hint of a smirk.

_Two can play at this game._ She looked him in the eye. "I'll just take the-"

"Oh hey, Sar," a tall, redheaded girl in a lacrosse sweatshirt said, emerging from the maintenance closet. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon! The elevator just broke down; can you believe that?"

Sarah's head whipped back toward Jareth, a loose tendril of hair hitting her nose. "Did it," she ground out, glaring daggers at her knight in glittery black armor. To his credit, the Goblin King had composed his face into a perfect mask of innocence; not a hint of the gloating she knew lay underneath was visible.

"Yeah," the other girl continued, oblivious to the tension in the room, "so you'll have to take the stairs- oh gods, Sarah, what happened to your knee?"

Sarah glanced down and felt the room suddenly spin around her at the sight of far more blood than she'd expected. A rather detached part of her mind mourned the large rip in her satin gown and the money she would owe the costume department; the rest engaged itself in trying to keep her supper down. "I-it's nothing, Jen," she replied with forced nonchalance. "These little cuts bleed so much, you know?"

Jen eyed the wound dubiously, but shut the closet door and meandered down the hall to the kitchen, tossing a "Call if you need anything!" over her shoulder.

Yes. Yes, he did. Hey, you know our beloved GK- anything to get ahead.

Don't forget to leave a review!


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome to chapter two! As usual, I own nothing and no one but Smudge. Ah, Smudge; cursed with near-terminal clumsiness. Enjoy!

If looks could kill, Jareth would have been dead about one minute ago. Sarah was certain he had a hand in the elevator's mysterious malfunction, but without proof any accusation on her part would sound like petulance. And if there was one thing she wanted to show that puffed-up, smirking bighead, it was her maturity. She turned and eyed the stairs with trepidation. Even uninjured in heels they were an iffy proposition, but her knee continued to bleed and she thought she might have sprained something as well. The sudden warmth of breath on the back of her neck didn't help matters.

"Poor Sarah," said a voice like heated velvet, "unable to retreat to her tower. Funny how such a little fall can incapacitate the girl who singlehandedly bested my labyrinth."

"But it would seem that you **are** in need of my assistance," he continued. "And I'm quite willing to do the generous thing and offer it…for a price."

"There's always a catch, isn't there, Goblin King?" she said between clenched teeth.

"As it's always been. And for this, I shall ask…"

Sarah gripped the banister tightly enough to drive the blood from her knuckles and waited for him to ask for the moon. This "price" would be something extravagant, like power over her or an admission of loss, or simple yet devastating, like- _a kiss_, her mind supplied, but she clamped down on the thought and forced it away.

"…some candy."

The breath left her in a relieved gasp before she could stop it. "Candy? Isn't that a bit out of character for you?"

He brushed past her and climbed three steps to gaze down at his wounded former adversary. "I understand you mortals celebrate an autumnal holiday this night which entitles the revelers to candy," he explained. "I simply want my share."

Stifling a giggle, Sarah asked, "And there's no hidden catch? No clause you're going to tighten around my neck once you get a few chocolate bars?" When he shook his head, she added, emboldened by some unknown force, "Seem to have lost your touch, Your Majesty."

That was a mistake. He gave her a devious grin as if to say, "oh, really?" and twisted a crystal from the air, tossed it towards the ceiling, and raced down two steps to stand before her. The crystal burst above them, and as the tiny fragments glittered downwards, Sarah felt reality shift, warp, and then wink out altogether for an instant. Unpleasant as the experience was, it lasted only a moment before they stood outside a battered door whose red nameplate proclaimed, "147."

Sarah rooted in her pocket- once again blessing the ingenious fashion student who'd worked pockets into the voluminous Death gown- and pulled out a key on a keychain…_shaped like an owl. Ye gods, why did I buy the one shaped like an owl?_ Despite her best efforts, thrusting the key into the lock as quickly as possible and attempting to shield the door with her body, Jareth caught sight of the little plastic bird and gave a throaty chuckle.

"Fond of owls now, Sarah?" he asked in a voice that would have made any heterosexual female blush.

"What I'm fond of is none of your business." She finally got the door open and turned to face him.

"Good night, Goblin King. It's been a lovely evening of disappointment, injury, and harassment, but I really have to get to bed now." And then, a grudging, "And thank you for helping me get home."

His hand shot out and gripped her shoulder, not painfully, but hard enough to keep her from moving. "Ah ah, my dear. We had a bargain; I've fulfilled my end-" he paused to brush a dark curl back into her chignon, and the place on her cheek his gloved finger had touched tingled- "so where's my candy?"

His tone fully suggested that he had a different sort of "candy" than Snickers in mind, but Sarah once again did her best to ignore the implication. Sighing, she pushed the dorm room door open and stepped aside, with a gesture for him to enter. He swept regally into the room with more flamboyance than anyone had the right to use when entering a college dorm, eliciting an eye roll from Sarah.

She flicked on the floor lamp, casting light on an overflowing laundry bag, half-dead houseplants, and rumpled bedcovers that proclaimed "Here there be college students." _Thank God I took the trash out this morning- wait, why am I worrying over him? Bad Sarah; he's a nuisance and nothing more! _

But as she glanced toward her side of the room, a horrified gasp escaped her lips.

Shards of delicately-painted clay littered the floor, punctuated by glints of gold enamel. An obvious gap now showed in an arrangement of tiny Mardi Gras masks on the wall. And amidst the rubble, wearing an expression of intense chagrin, sat a familiar little demon.

"I sorry, Lady!" the goblin wailed as tears began to streak down his dirty face, "Just wanted to see the pretty!"

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden thumping noise from the pine wardrobe cut her off. Angry hisses followed, and what sounded like scratching.

"Nimue!" she exclaimed. Crossing the room as quickly as a floor-length gown allowed, she threw open the wardrobe door. A furry streak of black shot out and went straight for the still-sobbing goblin. The devil, whose costume was now looking worse for wear, tried to fend off the cat with his plastic pitchfork.

Jareth shouted, "Smudge, leave the cat alone!" and Sarah simultaneously yelled, "Nim, no!" Neither combatant listened (or perhaps they simply hadn't heard); the fight continued in a whirl of fur and red sequins. _That's it_, Sarah thought, and strode bravely towards the fray. But she couldn't catch hold of the rogue cat, and when one of her efforts garnered a claw to the injured knee, her patience gave out.

"He's your goblin; do something!" she called to Jareth over the din. The Goblin King flicked a crystal out of nothing and tossed it at the small battle. As it connected with the warriors, the crystal split into two bubbles, one to confine each fighter. Despite the valiant efforts of Nim's claws and Smudge's pitchfork, the amorphous barriers held firm. Jareth crossed the room and gave the goblin's bubble-cage a slight kick, sending it rolling across the floor.

Sarah watched its trajectory anxiously, fearing the sharp edges of the wardrobe or an end table, but Smudge rolled to a halt unharmed (though a bit green around the gills). Nimue, for her part, sat back on her haunches and began to wash with typical feline nonchalance.

Jareth didn't even give the enemies a second glance. Instead, his attention turned to the broken mask. "I'm rather concerned about your lovely wall décor," he said. Kneeling, he picked up a golden shard and examined it so intently that Sarah felt she was watching someone else. Certainly she'd known of his appreciation for beauty; how could anyone without a severe concussion miss it? But the Goblin King she knew wouldn't appear transfixed by a little sliver of pottery, gold-painted or otherwise.

So interesting was this out-of-character behavior that he was through several sentences before she registered his voice. "…could perhaps assist in salvaging- Sarah?"

_I've been staring, haven't I?_

Her old adversary dropped the shard back with its fellows and rose gracefully to his feet. The look on his face dynamited Sarah's previous train of thought. She knew that look all too well.

_The patented "I-Just-Caught-You-In-A-Moment-Of-Weakness-And-Intend-To-Milk-It-For-All-It's-Worth" expression,_ she realized with a sinking heart. _Damn._

True to form, Jareth's maddeningly superior smirk returned. He slowly advanced towards her, mismatched eyes burning holes in hers. Tempted as she was to back up, Sarah held her ground. Behind her lay her bed, and at least ten thousand situations she emphatically wished to avoid. Letting him back her into a corner- so to speak- couldn't lead to anything good.

When only six inches or so separated them, the Goblin King stopped. The smirk had disappeared, she noted, which was probably a bad sign. On top of that, certain parts of her brain (and body) had begun loudly and persistently noting his proximity to her. Taking a deep breath in an effort to keep her heart rate down, she opened her mouth to snap at him-

"Sarah."

_Oh, gods._

A single word, the rational part of her mind protested, her own name, shouldn't have this effect on her- indeed, no effect whatsoever. And yet, coming from his lips, spoken like a spell in a voice that was all velvet and bonfire heat… Sarah was suddenly unable to remember why not stepping back had seemed so important.

But that infuriating cad had to go and ruin the mood with the next words out of his mouth. In quite a different tone, he asked, "Would you like some help in cleaning up that mess?"

Watching her unsuccessful attempt to reconnect brain and tongue, Jareth chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He began to pace about the room, peering into every corner, around and under the beds, and into the closet. Finally, he seemed to find his quarry in Sarah's wardrobe. She waited, expecting the worst, to see what he could possibly want from among her mishmash of jeans, long skirts, and the occasional waistcoat- with a silent prayer of thanks that she'd decided to keep lingerie in her bureau.

The blond monarch emerged from her pine wardrobe with… _a broom?_

And its matching dustpan, she noticed in an odd moment of whimsy. This acquisition only added to her confusion; as she watched, he carried the cleaning implements to the wreck site. Laying the dustpan on the floor, he gripped the broom firmly and spoke a few words under his breath. Sarah couldn't make out what he'd said, and in days to come wasn't even certain she'd heard anything. But at that moment she didn't puzzle over his speech, because the broom and dustpan had begun to glow. Jareth released it and stepped back; seconds later, her blue plastic cleaning supplies began to move on their own.

Sarah gazed at the spectacle, and was strangely reminded of a Disney movie she'd seen as a child. The broom neatly swept her broken Mardi Gras souvenir into the dustpan, which flew across the room and neatly deposited the clay into the trash bin. The whole operation took less than a minute. Soon her broom and dustpan lay on the now-clear gray carpet, immobile once more.

"Wow." It occurred to her that this was hardly the most intelligent comment, but nothing else came readily to mind.

_Get it together, Sarah. That was not the most impressive display of magic you've seen, by a long shot. In fact, it was quite-_

Her train of thought was rather speedily derailed by the sudden placement of a black-gloved hand on her shoulder. Warm breath against her neck told her that Jareth was quite close; his proximity incited an odd tingling sensation. It was as if she could feel him, feel possibility crackling in the space between them.

And then he was even closer, whispering in her ear, "Cat got your tongue, precious thing? How unlike you." She started at his words and was eerily reminded of their first interaction.

_"It's further than you think…"_

Sarah turned, attempting to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. Managing a jaunty, entirely G-rated smile, she chirped, "Not really. Well, thank you for the help tonight, Your Majesty, and safe-"

"Just a moment," he cut in, raising an eyebrow. "What about our bargain?" _Damn sexy voice making everything sound like an innuendo and being presumptuous and making me breathless- wait, not that last one!_

She bit her lip. "Candy's in a bowl by the door. Take whatever you like." The words came out tighter than she'd intended, and from his catlike grin, he had taken the tiny hint and run with it.

His hand moved lazily upwards from her shoulder to her collarbone, brushing the skin bared by her gown and trailing fire in its wake. She was suddenly **very** aware of the situation: the Goblin King was in her dorm, oozing magic and glitter, wearing dangerously tight pants, and now caressing her cheek with tantalizingly light strokes of his fingertips that made knots form in her stomach. Before she knew what was happening, Sarah leaned involuntarily into his palm. A tiny part of her brain swore, but the rest began doing a celebratory dance.

There was a dark chuckle, and the next moment, he was no longer leaning against the wall but standing mere inches from her. Jareth tilted her chin up with one hand, she met his eyes and barely had time to think, _Oh no_, and their lips came together.

It was everything she'd dreamed of (in those dreams she'd stridently pushed from her mind), and more. Time and space fell away; there was nothing but the Goblin King- _no, __**Jareth**_- holding her, touching her, kissing her as she'd never been kissed before. He tasted like cinnamon and her one coherent thought was _More!_ It seemed like she'd never have enough of him, and, oddly enough, she was entirely comfortable with that idea.

Unfortunately, Jareth clearly had something else in mind. He broke away, standing back to smile at her in a way that suddenly brought all the usual protestations back.

_This is Jareth, for heaven's sake! You were just kissing- scratch that, __**snogging**__ the Goblin King! Remember, the one who sent the Cleaners after you, gave you a drugged peach, kidnapped your brother, and just now magically broke your elevator? What were you thinking?_

But a little voice, one she tried anew to silence, whispered, _Oh, but Sarah…_

After a moment of silent staring between them, Jareth spoke.

"So spricht das Liebe, my precious Sarah."

It wasn't until he'd been gone for three minutes that Sarah realized two very important things.

First, her knee had healed. And second, the bowl of candy had disappeared from its stool beside the door.

Again, yes, he did. What a stinker. ;)

As always, reviews are much appreciated.


End file.
